by Will Cook
“I don’t give up easily,” she said, and stepped off the porch.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Marty Hinshaw,” she said. “I’ve a few things to say to him.”
“I wouldn’t…,” Joe Sanders began, then let it go, for his daughter was at the front gate and turning toward the center of town.
Rather than immediately walk back to the ranger camp, Martin Hinshaw decided to wait on the main street and hope for a wagon or a buggy going out. He stood in front of the hotel, smoking a cigarette and cursing himself for letting his temper get the best of him when tapping heels along the walk drew his attention around.
Ella Sanders came into the light, and stopped. “I want to talk to you, Martin Hinshaw.”
“I apologized to your fath….”
“I don’t care about that,” she said firmly. “You came to my house and created a fuss, and, if you think you can just turn your back on it and walk away, then you’ve got another think coming.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I went to the trouble to fix a supper, and you’re coming home with me and eat it,” she said. “And if you’re ashamed of yourself and sit there with your eyes on your plate, well . . . you’ll just have to, I guess. Only you don’t walk away from the things you do so easily.”
“Why don’t we just skip all this?” he asked.
“Marty, I’ll take you by the ear and pull you along if I have to.”
He looked at her. She stood tall and firm-minded, and he knew that she would do exactly that, and he laughed. “All right, I couldn’t whip you in a fair fight, and I know it.”
“You may take my arm and start acting like a gentleman,” she said.
They started along the walk.
“I suppose Fred Early’s there,” he said.
“No, he left. But if he was, it would still be the same.”
“You’re a real stubborn woman,” Hinshaw said. “Early’s going to have to change some if he expects to marry you.”
She gave him a quick glance. “How do you mean that?”
“Well, he fancies himself the masterful type. One day he’ll walk into the house and tell you he don’t like where the couch is sitting, and he’ll end up on the floor, seeing stars.”
“Why, I’m not like that, Marty!”
He stopped and took her arm and turned her so she faced him. “You’re like that, and I like your being like that, Ella. I like the way you handle yourself and the things you do and say. You’re a better woman that Fred Early deserves.” They were halfway down a dark block, and there was no one to see him, so he put his arms around her and kissed her. When he released her, he said: “That’s my second mistake tonight, but don’t expect me to apologize for it.”
“Don’t do that again to me, Marty,” she said softly. “You see, there are always enough doubts in our minds without building more.”
“Doubts about what? Fred Early?”
“Talking is no darned good. Besides the supper’s getting cold.”
Colonel James Gary was in Carl Manners’s office when Guthrie McCabe came in, his crutch thumping. Manners was pouring the drinks. He waited until McCabe lowered himself into a chair before passing them around.
“You ought to stay off that leg,” Manners said. “Colonel Gary’s been relating some experiences you and he had some years ago, Captain. I was most surprised to know that you had served together.”
“We’ve had some high old times,” McCabe admitted. “And some low ones. Right, Jim?”
“Without the bad, a man wouldn’t know what was good,” Gary said. He chuckled, and stroked his mustache. “When I stepped into the nurse’s compartment and saw you, you could have knocked me down with a gust of wind. It’s been some nineteen years as I recall.”
“The fall of’Eighty-Six,” McCabe said. “How’s uie family, Jim?”
“Jane’s fine. So are the two girls. We have a son entering West Point. You?”
“I never took a wife,” McCabe said, and he sounded as though he regretted this oversight. Then he laughed. “It’ll be good to be working with you again, Jim. The major here tells me you’re a military adviser to Teddy Roosevelt. Well, it comes as no great surprise to me. You always had the mark of a doing man about you.”
Gary laughed and waved aside this flattery. He finished his drink and stood up. “I think I’ll write a few letters before I turn in. If reveille comes as early in the rangers as it does in the Army, then a man my age needs all the sleep he can get.”
After he went out, McCabe said: “He’s a damned good soldier, Carl. He’ll do his job.”
“The President couldn’t have picked a worse time to send a man,” Manners said. He leaned back in his chair and looked at McCabe. “When I first got wind that you’d arrested Vargas in Louisiana, I was ready to court-martial you and dismiss you from the service.”
“You’ve changed your mind?” McCabe asked.
“I’ve reconsidered,” Manners admitted.
“You talk like a man trying to trade horses,” McCabe said. “All right, I’ve been a lawman long enough to know you have to make deals. Talk, and I’ll listen.”
“The point is this bandit trouble is Texas business. We don’t need the help of the federal government. Whether we do or not is going to be Colonel Gary’s decision. I want to make certain it’s favorable to Texas.”
“You won’t lose your job if it ain’t,” McCabe said.
“No, but the rangers will suffer a loss of prestige.”
McCabe shrugged. “So? Right now that badge earns all the respect of any nickel-plated tin star. It’s the man behind it who always builds respect for the law.”
“That’s something neither here nor there,” Manners said. “The point is that Vargas’s attorneys have arrived in town. Grady says they came in late this afternoon. The fact that you arrested him in another state without a warrant may be enough to have the whole thing thrown out of court.”
Guthrie McCabe shook his head. “Carl, it’ll never get to court.” He leaned forward, favoring his wounded leg. “Vargas would never trust the legal court machinery to free him. No, his bandidos will be across the Rio Grande before court convenes. If you want to make it legal to satisfy yourself, get a change of venue and have him moved to Austin and tried there. With the queen bee in the stockade, every Mexican across the river is waiting for the signal to charge and turn him loose. For that matter, seventy percent of the Mexicans here in Laredo will take up arms for Vargas the minute the attack begins.” He pointed his finger at Carl Manners. “I know what’s in your mind, and I’ll tell you how I know. All my life I’ve dealt with men who had some kind of an axe to grind, men who were good men and bad, and I’ve made my share of deals, heard just about every proposition under the sun. No, Carl, I’m not going to use my old friendship with Gary to lead him on some snipe hunt while you sprinkle water to settle the dust. I’ll tell you what I will do, though. I’ll take that young recruit, Hinshaw, and Gary and escort the prisoner to Austin. And while I’m there, I’ll stop in and see the governor… we used to raise hell together some years back. So, if you want to make out those charges against me, you just go right ahead.”
Carl Manners’s expression was smooth and tight, and it was a minute before he spoke. “Guthrie, you sound like a man making threats.”
“I’m telling you which side your bread’s buttered on because you’re a young squirt who don’t know his hind end from a warm bun. Laredo was hit once before, and it was bad, but this time it’s going to be a slaughter unless you do something about it.”
Manners sighed. “Forgive me for saying this, but I’m hoping that Vargas will win acquittal. I’ve thought about it until my head aches, and it’s the only way out of this. Oh, there’ll be another time, and it will be different then, but he’s got to be turned loose. Either that, or we risk every soul in town in a reprisal raid.”
“Do you think he won’t raid, anyway?” McCabe shook his head. “Maj
or, I hate to tell you the facts of life this way, but Jim Gary is the best thing that ever happened to you. He’ll make his report and bring in the Army and these spiks won’t be dealing with the State of Texas any longer, but the United States government. The rangers will never wipe out the bandits because we can’t cross that river into Mexico. But the government can put pressure on Mexico City and maybe cross the river. Now do we move Pedro Vargas to Austin or not?”
“Give me some time to think about it,” Manners said.
“You don’t have much time,” McCabe pointed out. “Every day Vargas’s army gets stronger. We’re outnumbered now nearly fifteen to one. Outgunned, too. We need more than we’ve got, Carl. We need an army to fight an army.”
Manners shook his head in weary agreement. “How did it start, Guthrie? How did it all begin, this hate for one another?”
“I guess it began thousands of years ago when one man looked at his skin and saw it was a little whiter than the man next to him. So he hauled off and kicked the other in the ass to show his superiority. You . . . me . . . we all add to it. We call the Mexicans greasers and spiks and bead rattlers on account of their religion, and, when they ask for a job, we put them on the manure pile.”
“Then why don’t we do something about it?” Manners asked. “If we know why, then why don’t we fix it?”
“I guess we don’t want to stand alone,” McCabe said. “A long time ago I learned that a man can be brave in one respect and a coward in another. But it’s important that Pedro Vargas hang, Carl. While he’s alive, he’s a symbol for every poor, uneducated Mexican who wanted to hit back and didn’t dare. He’s a cry on their lips . . . !Viva los bandidos! It’s a cry that has to be stilled, Carl, or there’s never going to be any peace between Texas and Mexico.”
Manners took his time lighting a cigar. After he shook out the match, he said: “Maybe this is too big for us. I didn’t want it to be. Glorious traditions of the corps and all that. I wanted it to be ended with Vargas swinging from the end of the rope, but it wouldn’t be an ending at all but a new beginning of something more vicious than before.” He sighed heavily. “All right, Guthrie. Tomorrow night, very quietly, you can leave for Austin with the prisoner. I’ll call Colonel Gary in the morning and lay all the facts on the table. What’s the use of hiding what can’t be hidden?”
“You’re going to work out all right, Carl,” McCabe said. “But for some time there I had my doubts.” He smiled and slowly stood up. “We need the Army, and the Army needs us. Vargas buys his firearms and ammunition from someone. We’ll have to hunt out his source of supply and cut him off.”
“I don’t think they’re coming from this side of the border,” Manners said. “It would be too easy for him to get them through Mexico.”
McCabe disagreed. “Carl, the only reason I’m walking now is because Vargas shot me with one of those seven millimeter Mauser automatics. It had a jacketed bullet, and it didn’t spread.” He reached into his pocket and tossed it on the desk. “The nurse on the train gave it to me.” He pointed to the bullet. “I don’t say that a weapon like that couldn’t be bought in Mexico City, but I’m pointing out that to the Mexican government Vargas is an outlaw. He steals from his own people, too. It would be a lot harder to move guns through Mexico than it would through Texas and across the river.”
“Every time you open your mouth, you give me something more to worry about,” Manners said. “I’ve heard talk, rumors, that Vargas had machine guns. If that’s true… .”
“Do you want to take a chance that it ain’t?”
“No,” Manners said. “We’ll have to look into this.”
McCabe went to the door, opened it, and paused there. “Carl, are you still going to have me court-martialed?”
“Oh, get the hell out of here,” Manners said, and smiled after McCabe closed the door.
Chapter Eleven
Sergeant Bill Grady and two other rangers maintained a guard post on the Texas side of the Laredo/Nuevo Laredo river crossing. To Grady it was dull, uninspiring duty, monotonous. A man soon grew lazy at it, smoked too many cigars, and counted the hours when he’d be relieved of it. There wasn’t much traffic. What there was consisted mainly of Mexican people who had friends or relatives on the other side and passed back and forth. They were always stopped and asked their names and where they lived, and they always answered patiently and went on. Grady could see that anyone could cross any time they wished with no real barrier to stop them.
Four wagons approached the crossing, and Grady recognized them as belonging to Joe Sanders, who had been in the freighting business for more years than Grady had lived. The drivers stopped the teams, and the ranger approached.
Grady said: “What’ve you got this time?”
“Two empties,” the foreman said, getting down. He handed Grady a sheaf of papers all signed by Joe Sanders. “The two loads consist of trade goods, hand tools, knives, pots, and pans. The Mexicans go for the tinware. We’re going to bring back leather, blankets. Texans go for them. Can you figure it out?”
“I’m not supposed to,” Grady said. “You mind opening a crate?” He walked to a wagon and pointed at random. “That one there.”
“Glad to oblige,” the man said and, with a crowbar, pried off the lid. Grady looked at the merchandise, then motioned for him to nail it up again. When the foreman tossed the hammer aside, he said: “Would you mind yelling across to the Mexican police? I get tired of opening these damned things.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Grady said, and signaled for the ferry to be warped into the bank. “How’s old man Sanders? I never see him any more since the accident.”
“Neither do I,” the foreman said, climbing aboard the wagon. “He’s crippled up and don’t get around at all. Fred Early gives me my orders since he’s one of the family, or darned near.” He picked up the reins. “See you this afternoon.” He drove his wagon onto the ferry, and it was slowly pulled across. In a half an hour all the wagons were transported to the Mexican side, and Grady sat down in the shade, resigned to idling the day away.
In late morning a ranger rode up, spoke to Grady, then put up his horse and took Grady’s place as he mounted up and rode away to Ranger Headquarters. When he went into Major Manners’s office, he found Guthrie McCabe there and Martin Hinshaw. Grady grinned at him and said: “Hello, squirt.”
“Have a chair,” Manners said. “Hinshaw, in the rangers we never pull duty with any man we don’t trust completely.” He looked at Bill Grady. “I’ve got a job for you, McCabe, and Hinshaw. Since you’ve never worked with this recruit….”
Grady smiled and scratched his chin. “He’ll do from what I’ve seen of him. What’s the job?”
“Take Pedro Vargas to Austin for imprisonment and trial.”
Grady whistled softly. “That’s two hundred miles as the crow flies. When do we leave?”
“Tonight,” Manners said. “You’ll use horses and travel at night as much as possible. Stay clear of towns. I want him there before his bandit friends find out what’s happened to him.”
“What we don’t want is another raid on Laredo,” McCabe said. “We’ve figured out a way to stop it, Bill. Tomorrow morning we’ll pull all the guards away from the guardhouse, open the doors, and go on about our business. I figure there are enough Vargas spies in Laredo to let it be known that he’s no longer here. There won’t be any reason for a raid then.”
“It might do the job,” Grady said. “You want me to stay in camp the rest of the day, Major?”
“Yes, you’ll all remain here. After dark you can get the wagon ready and pick the horses and draw supplies. Take your saddle horses along. Tie them on back.” He glanced at Grady. “Any activity at the crossing?”
“Four of Joe Sanders’s wagons crossed over. They were on some of Fred Early’s business.”
Manners sighed. “That man would sell hot, roasted peanuts in the middle of a battle.” He grinned. “I suppose the demand for peanuts would be great un
der those circumstances. Did you notice any massing of men across the river, Bill?”
“None that I could see, Major. Of course, his lieutenants would have them scattered all over the country. But not so far they couldn’t be brought together in a hurry. If we could only cross that river….”
“We can’t,” Manners said. “You’re going to have to forget that, so stop thinking about it.”
“I’d like to pick fifty men and raid his camp just once,” Grady said.
It was a thought Manners had entertained, too. He indicated that the meeting was over, and they went outside. They all moved to the shade, and Hinshaw rolled a cigarette. “It seems to me,” he said, “that we do a lot of running in circles. McCabe catches him, fights to bring him back, then we move him. Somehow I get the feeling that we’re getting nowhere.”
“The mistake was mine, I guess,” McCabe said. “Taking him into custody was a point of pride with me.” His lined face settled into an expression of regret. “One man, one greasy-haired Mexican bean eater turning out to be more than the Texas Rangers can handle, makes me see red.” His manner softened. “But it just ain’t us. There’s people in Laredo who look to us to protect ’em. The public safety has to come first. That’s something I have to know and then remind myself not to forget.” He searched his pockets for a cigar, then accepted one of Bill Grady’s. After he lit it, he stood there with his eyes squinted into slits, studying the river and Mexico beyond. “If I was running this here shebang, I’d set a trap for Vargas’s bunch that a snake couldn’t wiggle out of. I’d hit ’em with every sneaky trick I could think of. Maybe I’d do me some moonlighting on the other side of the river, too.”
Grady laughed. “McCabe, this ain’t like the old days.”
“Too bad,” McCabe said, and walked away, bearing heavily on his crutch.
“I’d like to see him get his way for thirty days,” Hinshaw said.
“He’d get the job done,” Grady said, “but he’d start a war between Texas and Mexico again. Let’s go over to the mess hall and see if we can argue the cook out of some coffee and a piece of pie.”